


To clear my conscience

by kapiushon17



Category: Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson-centric, Episode: s02e10 Fallen, Gen, He definitely does, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt No Comfort, Prison, Prison Abuse, Sad Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24422119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kapiushon17/pseuds/kapiushon17
Summary: A small exploration of Dick and that guard in the interrogation room at the beginning of the episode Fallen; because seriously… that was just plain mean.So here's how it could've went on...
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	To clear my conscience

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy...

Dick had known exactly what he was doing when he attacked the officers at the airport. His mind had been completely clear, only Slade’s words still ringing in his ears. He knew the man was right, something he would have never thought he would ever think. But he didn’t deserve to be with his team, with his friends, anymore. And, even more importantly: They deserved better than having to spend even just another minute with him. 

He had led the Titans into misery. People had died because of him. He only had to think of Jericho to know that they were right to hate him, to turn away from him. And now Jason had almost been killed because of him, too.

He needed to be as far away from them as possible, in a place where the darkness emanating from him wasn’t harming anyone he cared about. And even Greenland wasn’t far enough for that. There was a more permanent, failsafe solution needed for him.

Dick was drawn out of his dark thoughts when the guard rudely pushed him into the interrogation room. He stumbled a little before managing to straighten back up and look around.

The layout of these rooms was always roughly the same, no matter which part of the country you were in. Dick had seen plenty of them over the years, but usually from the other side of the table, from the other side of the law. There was a steel table, bolted to the floor, and a plain chair in front of it. One wall was completely covered by a one-way mirror. Upon spotting his reflection in it, Dick almost startled. The bruises from his fight with Slade stood out starkly against his almost sickly pale skin. Even darker than those, though, were the smudges of tiredness beneath his eyes.

Dick looked away. He didn’t really want to associate himself with that broken man in the mirror. But, he wondered, who was he kidding? He had always been like that, had always been broken, and had only been better at hiding it.

The guard dragged him towards the chair, shoving him unnecessarily roughly even though Dick already went willingly. Pulling the chair back slightly, the guard pushed on his shoulder. Dick didn’t want to put up a fight, and so he relaxed his body.

But there was no chair to lower himself on. He crashed to the floor, his handcuffed wrists painfully crushed under his weight. Pain shot up his arms, and he gritted his teeth upon hearing the guard chuckle.

Such an asshole.

Leaving the chair toppled over on the floor behind Dick, the guard left the room and slammed the door behind him. With a small hiss, Dick rose back on his feet, with a grace that didn’t betray his tiredness in the slightest.

He positioned himself behind the table, standing ramrod straight and blankly looking in the direction of the mirror. He didn’t really see his reflection anymore, but rather stared into empty space.

Flexing his hands in the cuffs, he tried to assess the damage. Pain flared up his left arm. That idiot actually sprained his wrist! But it didn’t really matter, either way. No one depended on him being whole anymore. He didn’t need to protect anyone. And he couldn’t really care less about what happened to himself. 

It took about twenty minutes for the guard to show back up. Strolling into the room, he looked Dick up and down as though he was some sort of inconvenient nuisance that needed dealing with, but that he’d rather be over with as quickly as possible. 

But then, his eyes fell on the chair still lying on the floor, and his face lit up with malicious glee. It would be highly difficult for a convict with cuffed hands to pick it up, that much was for sure.

“Sit down.” he commanded, smiling smugly.

Raising one eyebrow, Dick looked at the chair, then back at the guard. He hadn’t explicitly planned on resisting, not at all, but he had never liked bullies, either. 

Dick did not move.

Already furious, the guard jumped up. Anger was burning in his eyes as his own chair almost toppled over with the force of his movement.

He grabbed Dick by the throat and slammed him backwards into the wall, his spittle flying everywhere as he yelled “Are you threatening me, scumbag?”

Dick’s stomach was churning a little in disgust when he was hit by the spray of the guard’s saliva, their faces mere inches apart. His hand sent painful twinges up his arm, but he made no sound expressing his discomfort, didn’t answer, and didn’t fight back.

He just stood there, pressed against the wall, and levelly locked his eyes with the guard’s. 

The latter seemed just shy of exploding, now. He pulled Dick towards him and slammed him right back against the rough concrete with startling force. 

For a moment, Dick saw stars in front of his eyes. Then, the guard’s fingers closed around his throat, and suddenly he had completely different concerns. 

The guard couldn’t kill him; Dick knew that. But when there was something cutting off your air supply, all rationality went out of the window. Helplessly, Dick flexed his hands in the cuffs behind his back, trying to pull away but not wanting to reveal too much about himself by slipping the cuffs, either. 

So he just twisted and turned, in vain, trying to use his training to remain calm, until, at some point, he started to become dizzy and black closed in from the edges of his vision. Only now, real panic started up. The guard should have let go already. Dick was trained to hold his breath much longer than an average person, and if he was starting to be affected, less trained men would have long since passed out. 

Maybe the guard actually did plan on killing him, all consequences be damned?

Open-mouthed, Dick tried to gasp for at least a tiny amount of oxygen. By now his eyes were clearly expressing his panic, too, and the guard could definitely see it, if his victorious smile was anything to go on.

He held on for a few more seconds, revelling in Dick’s panic, and only when his eyes were getting glassy did he let go and allowed the convict to slide down the wall and collapse on the floor, coughing and wheezing, panting so hard that his whole body shook. 

Dick’s lungs and throat were on fire, each gasping breath like a knife tearing into his tissue. Through his sweaty bangs, he gazed up at the guard, who was leering down on him. He clenched his hands into angry fists behind his back.

What the hell was wrong with this asshole?

“Get up.” said asshole grunted. “Pick the chair up, bring it to the table, sit down.” He moved back to his side of the table, sitting down. All rage was gone from his expression, only cold victory left to show in his eyes.

Once Dick had sort of regained his breath, he slowly pushed himself back up, using the wall to support his bodyweight until he was reasonably sure he could stand on his own again. He was sore all over, his head spinning from where it had slammed into the wall. 

But he deserved the pain, the misery, every last bit of it for how much pain and misery he had caused the people he cared about, the people he loved.

So he slowly limped to the chair and crouched down to pick it up, all fight gone from his limbs. It was indeed a bit of a difficult task, since he had to do it behind his back and with a sprained wrist, but eventually he managed and proceeded to slowly, wearily push the chair towards the table. 

Gingerly lowering himself on it, he slumped forward a little, looking at the floor. His voice was low and gravelly when he spoke up.

“I plead guilty. It doesn’t matter what the charge is, it doesn’t matter what you’re asking me. Just lock me up, and be done with it. I don’t deserve anything else.”

And, for the first time in many weeks, it was as though there was a weight lifted from his conscience, and he felt as though for once, he had actually done the right thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I must admit that I’m not quite satisfied with how that story developed. So, concrit is really appreciated...


End file.
